


puddles

by honkt



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Art, Best Friends, Colorblind GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Confessions, Flirting, Fluff, Light Angst, Long-Distance Friendship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Minecraft, POV GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Painting, Phone Calls & Telephones, Pining, Rain, Secret Crush, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29483958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honkt/pseuds/honkt
Summary: “There’s… there’s been this feeling that I’ve been getting lately,” George began, still nervously tugging at his hair. “And it makes me do stupid things sometimes. It’s, like, a nice, warm feeling. The feeling you get next to a fireplace, but even warmer than that. And it just happens whenever…” George froze.Whenever I think about you.No no no. He couldn’t say that.A pink blush tinged George’s face. “I get it sometimes, when, like…” George started again, trying to rephrase, “when I’m happy. Or when I…” George’s hand fell from his hair, fumbling with his sleeves. George shook his head. “When I, like, talk to you, I’ve been feeling… colorful.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 169





	1. Chapter 1

~

His dainty hands fluttered through the stacks of thin canvases, searching for one that he deemed to be just right. Landing on one in the back, the cleanest one with no tears in its wrapping, the hands stopped shuffling.

George pulled the large canvas free from the back of the group, then leaned over to pick up a small, square-shaped one as well. He glanced around, surveying the aisles as the overhead speakers echoed out the same clique pop songs he had heard over and over again on his drive to the store.

It felt right to be in the art shop. George had always had an eye for art, and had loved sketching and painting back in secondary school. With his sudden interest in coding, and incredibly busy schedule, he had just recently found the time to get back into it.

He paced the aisles, stopping suddenly at the supplies section, delicately picking out the nicest charcoal and pencils he could find. He only briefly glanced at the colorful paints on display. _No use in looking at those_ , he thought. He grabbed a collection of sketching paper, starting to make his way back to the front of the store.

The sickening pop song still blasted across the store. George rolled his eyes. _People actually enjoy this stuff?_

He handed his items to the cashier, taking out his wallet from his coat. Suddenly, a loud ringtone blasted from his pocket. He jumped, taking out his phone to silence it as quickly as he could.

“Sorry,” he mumbled to the cashier.

He declined the call quickly, peering at who was phoning him. _Dream_. George smiled at this. It had been a couple days since he had gotten to talk to his best friend.

“ _One sec_ ,” he quickly texted him, handing the cashier his card and grabbing his supplies.

George strolled briskly out of the doors and away from the nauseating music. Wind disheveled his hair, dark clouds swirling around the sky. It smelled like rain. It had been raining for three days straight in England, and George was getting pretty tired of it.

He placed his bags onto the hood of his car and called Dream. The phone rang only twice before a bright, happy voice burst out of it.

“George!”

George laughed, smiling. “Hi, Dream,” he responded warmly. “What’s up?”

“Hi. Um...” Dream started, “What are you doing right now?”

George shivered at the wind, placing his supplies into the backseat. “Nothing. Er, I just got done shopping for some stuff.”

Dream chuckled. “What stuff?”

George could feel warmth rising to his face. It was so embarrassing talking about art with his friends. Not that any of it was _actually_ embarrassing, it was just something he didn’t share too much about.

George sighed, sitting into the driver’s seat and shutting the door. “Art stuff. Like paper and pencils and stuff.”

Dream hummed affirmatively. “You’ve been doing that more, right? Drawing and stuff?”

“Yeah, I guess.” George answered awkwardly, looking around at the gloomy sky. 

Dream chuckled again. “I can just picture you, doodling on all your books and stuff. Like little smiley faces and hearts and—”

“—Shut _up_ ,” George interjected, smiling again. “I do not _doodle_. You’re so annoying.” George shook his head, cheeks pink. “Is this why you called me? To insult my hobbies?—”

“—Can I see your art sometime?” Dream interjected, “Or like a drawing? Or something?”

George fiddled with his hand. “Yeah, maybe. Sometime.” _No_ , he thought. _Not ever_. It was a different side of himself, something much more private than Minecraft. And to show Dream something like that before he even got to see his _face_? No way.

Dream laughed softly. “Cool. But no, I didn’t just call to make fun. I was actually wanting to know if you’d join us on the SMP in a bit. We’re doing some lore stuff and since you _never_ participate, I thought it’d be cool if you like, were there for a bit.”

“When are you gonna do that?” George asked, looking at the time. _4:55_.

“Um, in like half an hour?” Dream responded.

George thought for a second, and finally gave in. It _had_ been a while since he participated. “Yeah, Dream, I’ll be there.”

“Sweet. Yeah, well I’ll talk to you then.” There was a short pause. “Looking forward to seeing you.”

Something inside of George lit up at this. Dream was excited to see him. He smiled warmly, tracing a finger around his phone. “Yeah, you too,” George responded. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Dream said, hanging up.

The cold wind was picking up outside, and it was definitely going to be raining again soon. George sat unmoving in his car for a moment, letting the warmth from the phone call settle in. His mind kept swirling around Dream asking to see his art. Why?

George caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. _Ew_ , he thought. His dark hair was beyond messy from the wind and his whole face was flushed.

He turned the key in the ignition and glanced behind him to see if he was okay to back up. His eyes flickered over to his art supplies. It’s almost as if the black coal and grey pencils were looking back at him. They seemed almost… sad?

He kept staring at them, warmth still resonating in him from the call. He turned to looked back at the store.

He quickly took the key out, and suddenly was running through the wind back to the front doors. He opened them, grabbing a basket and jogging to the supplies section once again.

Before he could even think, his hands were tossing every color of paint into the basket beside him. He didn’t stop until every single shade was in there, not having the slightest clue what half of them even were.

He took the basket and began the quick walk back to the checkout lines, stopping only to mindlessly throw in a random bucket of colorful chalk he encountered along the way. He noticed another pop anthem playing from the speakers around him, and found himself tapping his foot as he waited in line, in a dizzy trance.

After a short wait, he found himself dumping the paint bottles onto the conveyor belt. God, there must have been seventy of them. He plopped the chalk next to them and fumbled to get out his wallet.

“Oh, I love this color,” the cashier suddenly interjected, breaking him from his trance. George squinted at the bottle in her hand. A dull grey. “It’s my favorite shade of red we have here,” she commented sweetly.

George awkwardly looked away. “Um, yeah. It’s great.”

The sudden realization of what he was doing finally hit him. What the hell had compelled him to rush in and grab these useless things? The girl handed him three new bags of the colors, his total ringing up to a staggering €380.

 _What am I doing right now?_ he thought to himself, absentmindedly handing his card to the girl. _Literally, you can’t even see these, idiot_.

George nervously pulled out his phone to check the time. _5:05_.

“Shit,” George muttered under his breath, taking the bags and running back to his car. It was a twenty minute drive back to his apartment, and he was _not_ planning on leaving Dream hanging this time.

He plopped behind the wheel and his car whirred to life, just as little sprinkles of rain began to hit his windows. He started his windshield wipers, and rushed towards the motorway.

 _What the hell was that?_ George shook his head.

Driving down the motorway, he caught his reflection in the mirror again. He muffled back a laugh. His hair was even worse then before, and his cheeks were _still_ flushed. He laughed, outloud this time. _I am literally being so weird right now_.

The rain started to pick up, now tumbling down onto the street in gallons. He turned his lights on and continued speeding down the street, looking at the time every couple of minutes to keep track.

The rain picked up even further. Suddenly, music reverberated from his car speakers. He hadn’t even noticed himself turning it on. The usually sickening-sweet pop music filled George’s brain, and instead of rolling his eyes as per usual, he swayed his head with the beat.

Drumming his fingers on the wheel in time with the music, a small smile plastered on his face, he cruised all the way back home through the storm, eventually pulling into a parking spot outside his apartment complex.

 _5:27_. It was good timing. He’d make it. George looked at the load of bags of art supplies in his backseat. This called for two trips.

He hurriedly picked up the bags from the first trip to the store, and sprinted out of his car. The rain was barely starting to lighten up from the intense downpour, raindrops still splashing down in enormous amounts.

He hurried to the front door through the rain, his coat getting more and more damp. He found it hard to care. His mind was on getting inside. Besides, it was kind of fun.

George ran up the stairs and entered his apartment, dropping the bags, and rushing out to grab the last three. As he descended the stairs, he noticed the pattering of the rain on the roof lightening up. He opened the front door to find just a drizzle.

He looked upwards at the dark clouds still swirling above him. The gloomy sky was brilliant. The rain usually made him sulk, but today it almost felt like new life.

Glancing around the street as he walked back to his car, George noticed he was the only one without an umbrella. The streets were always crowded outside his place, busy people always bustling, even in a rainstorm.

He reached his car, and grabbed the last of the bags, turning to start his journey back to his apartment. Absentmindedly, he stepped directly into a deep puddle.

“Ugh!” George exclaimed. The water had splashed from his boot all the way up his pant legs.

Usually, George would have fumed at this. He did not like the rain. He did not like getting splashed. But today, something was different.

After an empty moment, George laughed. He stepped into the same puddle with his other foot. A big splash shot up into the air, landing once again on his legs, and on the bags of paint.

George paused, looking around to make sure no one was watching, and then suddenly jumped. A huge splash skyrocketed all around him, completely soaking the lower half of his coat. This caught a few eyes of the people speeding by him. A giggle escaped George.

He knew he looked like an idiot. He knew his hair was plastered in every direction and his clothes were soaked. Still, there he was, giggling by himself in the middle of a puddle. There was warmth inside of him, even on this cold, gloomy day.

George pulled himself out of the puddle, and stepped gingerly into another. He smiled at the small water droplets that stirred to life around his foot. All in an instant, his bags were on the ground and he was leaping into a nearby puddle, the splash making him laugh again, loudly this time.

He was aware that people were staring. Right now, that didn’t bother him.

George spun around in a circle, arms outstretched. The water danced with him. He lept into another puddle, the water getting into his boots now. He laughed again. He lept and spun and splashed and smiled.

He felt warm. He felt happy. He felt good! He suddenly found himself looking back at the bags of paint on the ground.

_Is this what color feels like?_

He bounded through the puddles over to the dull paints, laughing again. _Color!_

He spun once again in a circle, suddenly losing his footing on the slick ground and falling next to the bags. He let out a joyful yelp, exploding into laughter. _Color! Color!_

“What the hell,” he giggled to himself, dipping his finger into a pool of rainwater and doodling a mountainscape with the droplets. He softly tapped his feet in a puddle as he sat, humming the tune of one of the songs from the radio.

He finished the mountain outline, and glanced around, grin wide on his face. _I am colorful_.

A big raindrop hit George on the forehead. _Ow_ , George thought, chuckling. Another suddenly hit him in the face again. The rain was picking back up. George gingerly picked himself up off the ground, glancing across the street at his apartment building.

 _Oh no_. His apartment building!

George pulled out his phone from his wet coat pocket to check the time. A dark screen stared back at him. It wouldn’t turn on.

~

“Shit,” George whispered frantically, snapping back to reality and quickly picking up his bags. He now was extremely aware of all the eyes on him. People walking by throwing glares his way. What was he doing?!

He ran towards the door, the rain hammering onto him now. He wrung out the ends of his clothes before entering, then sloppily sprinted up the stairs, leaving a trail of rainwater behind him on every step.

He flung open his door, throwing down the soaked supplies next to the others, and hastily threw his phone into a half-empty box of uncooked rice.

He tossed off his coat, kicked off his boots, and quickly sat into his gaming chair, still sopping wet. He turned on his computer as fast as he could. “Come on…” he murmured as the loading screen took its time. 

A bright screen finally lit up the room. George clicked on the Minecraft and Teamspeak icons as fast as he could. He ruffled a nervous hand through his hair, droplets flying off in every direction, and put on his headphones. The applications finished loading. He opened up the Dream SMP server, and joined the conversation. He was in.

Laughter immediately filled his ears. A voice spoke. “—okay, it’s off. That was literally _so_ funny, like really good, and…”

The laughter and voices died out as George’s friends noticed that he had just joined the call.

“Hey, George!” he heard Sapnap say.

There was a short silence. “Hi,” George responded awkwardly.

“George!” Tubbo suddenly yelled, laughing excitedly. “Guys, George is here!”

“Yep,” George laughed weakly, “I’m here.”

The laughter amongst the friends started back up again. Tubbo exclaimed, “George, you should have seen it! It all went so well! The battle scene thingy with Tommy and I went _perfectly_ —”

“— _Better_ than perfectly,” Tommy interrupted. “It was _so_ funny.” He exploded into laughter.

George heard Sapnap giggle. “Yeah, it was honestly really, really good. Chat loved it, you should have seen it.”

Tubbo started again. “Oh my god, you _have_ to watch it back! Dream did amazing, too!”

“Yeah! Dream was great!” Tommy exclaimed, laughing.

There was a moment of silence. “Thanks, guys,” George heard Dream’s voice finally say.

The boys continued giggling and chatting, bounding around with each other in the game, as George heard a message come through on his other monitor. From Dream.

“ _Where were you? What happened?_ ”

George swallowed hard, finally looking over at the top of his screen to check the time. _6:45_. The reality of what he had just wasted over an hour doing hit him like a truck. Had he really pranced around in the rain for _that long_? It couldn’t be possible! But still, there he was, sat in a pool of water, hair still dripping down onto his shirt.

George’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. “ _Nothing_ ,” he quickly responded. He paused. “ _I’m just an idiot_ ,” he added, turning his attention back to the game and the conversation.

“…well I know you just finished streaming Tubbo,” Sapnap was saying, “but if you guys wanna stick around, we could play Bedwars or something. I think I’m gonna stream.”

“Hell yeah, brother!” Tommy yelled, jumping around in-game, hitting Tubbo. “Let’s do it!”

“I’m in Sapnap, let me just grab some dinner,” Tubbo responded.

“Okay, sweet,” Sapnap said, “Dream?”

“I think I’m done for now,” Dream answered blankly. _Uh oh_. “Maybe George wants to? You didn’t ask him.” George’s nerves jolted.

“Oh yeah, George do you wanna join?” Sapnap asked, running after Tommy. “Sorry, I forgot you were here, figured you were busy or something.”

George fiddled with the bottom of his damp shirt. “Yeah, something like that,” he answered.

Sapnap and Tommy started laughing again, now hitting each other instead of Tubbo.

“Sapnap! Stop! You’re going to kill me!” Tommy yelled.

Sapnap laughed, chasing after him as Tommy sprinted to the Holy Land, pleading with him to leave him alone.

Dream spoke. “Alright, well good job guys. I’m heading off,” he said, leaving the Minecraft game. A small chorus of goodbyes echoed after him, and Dream left the voice call.

“Uhh, me too,” George abruptly said, leaving the call before they could say anything, and exiting out of the game. He sat, staring at his blank screen for a second until he realized how cold he was.

Still heavily embarrassed from missing the entirety of the lore stream, George pried himself off of the chair, headed into his bathroom, and changed into dry clothes. God, what was going on with him today?

George sludged his way into his kitchen, fetching the box of rice. Hopelessly, he pressed the buttons of his phone. To his surprise, it turned on. George perked up. At least his phone worked again. His excitement dwindled when he saw the three missed calls from Dream, and a flurry of “ _where are you_ ” texts.

He knew he had to apologize. He opened up the phone app, went to his favorites, and willed himself to press on Dream’s name.

Just as he did, his phone started buzzing, startling him. _Dream_. He put a shameful hand over his face, pulled the phone up to his ear, and answered.

“Hi,” George breathed out weakly.

Dream sighed on the other end. “Hi, George.”

Warmth filled his body again with the sound of Dream’s voice, even though he knew he had hurt him. George paced around his kitchen, thinking of the words to start his apology with. “I—”

“Why were you late again? Where were you?” Dream suddenly asked.

George stood up straight, fiddling with his shirt again, thinking of an answer. He didn’t want to sound stupid.

“Are you okay?” Dream asked again.

“Yes, I’m fine.” George answered quickly, letting a small smile cross his face at Dream’s concern. “I was literally just being stupid, I’m sorry.”

Dream sighed again. “I get it. It was just really important lore and I wrote you into it. Chat thought you were gonna be there and stuff.”

“I know,” George admitted softly, running a hand across his face. “This is seriously the last time I’ll be late. Seriously.” There was a small pause.

“And you’re sorry?” Dream asked. George could hear a hint of a smile in his voice.

“Yes.”

“You’re _really_ sorry?”

“ _Dream_ ,” George breathed, exasperated. “I literally already said I’m sorry.”

Dream let out a small chuckle. “Fine, then. Apology accepted.”

George smiled. “Thank you—”

“— _If_ you tell me what you were doing,” Dream interrupted.

George rolled his eyes into the back of his head, taking a deep breath as he looked at the bags of art supplies still drenched in the corner of the room. _Oh boy_.

“Fine,” George finally said, his face flushing with the thought of telling the embarrassing story. “I was… Well, it was raining, and—well, it rained the whole way home, like really rained, and…” George paced around the kitchen again. “Yeah, so, yeah, and it was still raining when—”

“—George!” Dream laughed, “Oh my god, you’re such an idiot, just tell me.”

George sighed. “I was… I was splashing in puddles.”

There was silence.

“ _What?!_ ” Dream suddenly exclaimed, sending himself into a flurry of laughter. “You were splashing in _puddles_?”

“Yes,” George answered, face buried in his hand.

“George, you were—ha!” Dream wheezed a little bit, sending a small smile to George’s face. “You—George, that’s so cute!” He kept laughing.

George’s face went pink. Defensive, George retorted, “It was not _cute_ , it was—”

“—Oh _sorry_ , it wasn’t _cute_ ,” Dream mocked. “What do you want me to say, that’s like…” Dream wheezed again. “That’s literally, like, adorable, like—”

George shook his head at the warmth starting in his stomach, his face fully red now. “Shut _up_ , it was not _adorable_ , I was just—”

“—You were just late because you were splashing in puddles.”

George let himself crack a little smile. It really was a pretty weird thing to do.

“I mean, yeah, I guess,” George said, defeated. “I was just… I don’t know, I was just in a really weird, good mood and I got sidetracked and was just like… like splashing and sitting and spinning around in the puddles.” George let out a small chuckle at the thought. “I don’t know.”

Dream let out a low, warm chuckle again. “You were _dancing_?”

George breathed in sharply, suddenly flustered again. “You are _so_ annoying, I was not _dancing_! I—”

“But you were _spinning_?” Dream wheezed again, making George let out a small giggle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Dream laughed, clearly wiping away tears. “It’s just like, a silly, dumb thought, a grown man dancing in puddles.”

George’s laughter slowly stilled. _Dumb_? Was it dumb? He put his hand back on his face, shaking his head. “I’m literally never telling you anything ever again.”

“Oh, come on,” Dream chuckled.

“I’m serious,” George joked.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dream sighed, finally calming down. A moment of silence passed. “You know…” he started again, “I actually kinda wish I was there to see you dance.”

George’s face started heating up again. “ _Stop_.” He started pacing again, suddenly flustered at the thought. “You’re so… Whatever.” His face was red hot, hands slightly shaking. “Anyways, I’m sorry for missing the lore stream. It won’t happen again. So, yeah.”

He ended the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I doubt that literally anyone will be reading this, but if you are, hello! This is the first fanfiction I've written, ever, so bear with me. I just had the idea in my head and needed to get it out!
> 
> This entire story is already written and will be coming out in 4 chapters. Each chapter will be around this length, and the whole thing is about 15000 words.
> 
> If you actually read this, thank you! And enjoy the next couple chapters! :)


	2. Chapter 2

~

“Oh Geeeooorge.”

George let out an absolutely ungodly scream that probably could have shaken the ceiling, sprinting his Minecraft character away at full speed.

It was several days later, and Dream was attempting to help George with his PVP skills in a random survival world. Dream had just hit George down to three hearts with an axe, and George was running for his life.

“Leave me alone! Leave me alone!” George screeched, plunging into the ocean and trying to swim away. Dream’s laugh boomed in his ears as the green man jumped in right after him, swiping an axe at his feet. George screamed again, looking back at him, trying to dive deeper.

“Geeeooorge,” Dream teased again, somehow managing to get close enough to deliver the fatal blow.

George’s character turned red, and George put his hands over his face in defeat.

Dream’s hearty laugh echoed in his headphones. He was cracking up. “Oh my god, I wish I could’ve seen your face!” he exclaimed. “You probably looked so funny—” His voice broke off in a wheeze.

“What the hell! I did not look—” George shook his head, slightly amused at Dream’s reaction. “You know, you probably look stupid when you freak out too.”

“I really don’t,” Dream responded, still giggling.

“Well since you won’t show me, I’ll just have to assume you do,” George responded, tapping his feet. He stood up. “But literally what am I supposed to do there? You always catch me! What am I supposed to do?” He plopped back down into his chair, finding his character back at spawn.

“Well, you don’t go in the water, first of all,” Dream chuckled. “You always jump into water for some reason, and then I always kill you.”

“Well, you always end up killing me on land, too,” George sighed, exasperated.

“That’s true,” Dream remarked, laughing. “I guess I’m just too good.”

“ _Dream_ ,” George whined. “You’re supposed to be helping me improve, and you just keep killing me!” George’s character jumped back over to where Dream stood on the beach.

“Because you won’t listen to my advice!” Dream laughed. George shook his head in disbelief. The training was going absolutely nowhere. “Look,” Dream started, running over to some trees, “You had blocks right?”

“Yeah, I had some dirt,” George responded.

“Okay, so if you had towered and gotten onto the trees,” Dream said, demonstrating what he meant, “then that would have gotten you at least a couple more seconds ahead. That’s what I would have done.”

George thought about this for a second. He shrugged, sighing. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?” Dream laughed. “Why are you pouting, you literally _asked_ me to help you with this for the stream later. I’m doing you a _favor_.”

“Yeah, whatever.” George chuckled, bounding after Dream’s character. “ _Thank you_ , Dream,” he said dramatically.

“Oh, shut up,” Dream responded, his character jumping down from the trees. “Here, let me spawn in some shields.”

“Why?” George asked.

“I don’t know,” Dream replied, tossing George a shield. “I figured that _sometimes_ we actually fight in Manhunts. You’re not _always_ just running away.”

“Okay, whatever.” George laughed. “I need an axe, too.”

Dream spawned in an axe and threw it to George.

“Okay, so don’t run away this time. We’ll just practice when to put your shield up and when to hit. So, like, your timing,” Dream instructed.

“I already have good timing,” George said defensively, trying to hit Dream. Dream dodged the attack and easily landed a crit on George. George gasped dramatically.

“Yeah, you sure?” Dream chuckled.

George rolled his eyes. “I just need to keep my shield up more, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dream instructed, jumping all around George. “Shield up whenever you’re not directly hitting on me.” George’s eyes widened at the blunder in Dream’s words, heat rising to his face. “Aah, I mean hitting… me,” Dream quickly corrected, his character standing still.

George took the opportunity to hit a perfect crit on Dream. “Oh! Nice, George!” Dream gasped, surprised. George’s character prepared for another hit, just as Dream delivered yet another fatal blow. George’s character died yet again.

“What the hell! How did you hit me so hard?!” George whined, “I was blocking!”

“George, you literally weren’t blocking,” Dream laughed again.

They practiced fighting with shields for several more minutes, George only dying a couple more times before finally getting a good rhythm. They stopped, and Dream towered up, practicing his trick with the invisible scaffolding.

“I’m excited for later,” George remarked, “We haven’t done a Manhunt stream before.” He towered up alongside Dream, trying the strategy out for himself. “Looking forward to kicking your ass.”

“Yeah, right,” Dream chuckled. “Looking forward to hearing you scream like a little baby again.”

“I don’t scream like a baby!” George retorted.

“You literally do,” Dream laughed. “Remember that—ha!” He started wheezing. “Remember that finale Manhunt we did where I kept running after you and killing you, and—” He wheezed again. “You were screaming _so loud_ , George, it was _so funny_ —”

“—You are so annoying,” George interrupted, laughing. “That was so dumb, you wouldn’t stop chasing me!”

“Well yeah, because chasing you is fun,” Dream responded, giggling softly.

George laughed. “Just admit you like looking at my ass, Dream.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Dream promptly fell all the way down from the scaffolding, dying on impact with the ground. George let out a hilariously high-pitched laugh. “Let’s goooo,” George cheered, building down to steal Dream’s inventory.

“You are literally such an idiot,” Dream chuckled.

“Maybe sometimes,” George responded happily. There was a small pause.

“So uh… What are you gonna do before the livestream tonight?” Dream asked softly.

“Um…” George logged out of the game, glancing at the pencils scattered around his other desk. “I might… I dunno, I might draw a little.” His heart thumped at the mention of his other hobby. “I’ve been drawing more and more recently.”

“What do you draw?” Dream asked, “I mean besides the rainbows and hearts and shit.”

“Shut _up_ , I told you I do not _doodle_ ,” George huffed, hearing Dream chuckling again. He shook his head. “I draw… I don’t know…” George glanced around his desk looking for something to mention. His eyes suddenly landed on the paints he had bought the other day. “I… I actually, um…” George swiveled around in his chair. “I bought some colors the other day,” he choked out.

Dream let out an amused breath. “Why?”

“Um…” George responded, trying to find an explanation.

“I mean, you can’t actually see most of them, right?” George could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Yeah. I just…” George shook his head again, still swiveling in his chair. Not even he knew the answer. “I just wanted to, I guess. It was super random. I’ll probably never even use them.” George fiddled with his hands, looking out the window at the still-gloomy sky.

Dream hummed contemplatively. “Well, it was fun practicing with you,” he said, bringing the conversation to a close. George’s chest suddenly ached. He was always so happy talking to Dream.

George chuckled blankly. “Yeah, it was fun. I actually might have learned something this time.”

“Because you finally started _listening_ ,” Dream joked. “Alright, see you in a couple hours.”

George smiled. “Yeah, see you then. Bye, Clay.”

George set down his headphones and pushed back in his chair, assuming Dream would end the call. Suddenly, he heard a muffled voice coming through. He glanced curiously back over and picked the headphones back up.

“What?” George said.

“Clay?”

George looked around, confused. “What?” he repeated.

“You called me Clay,” Dream responded, chuckling. “It’s, like, fine, you just never call me that.”

“Oh, um…” George started, his cheeks tinting pink, “I didn’t even realize.” He swiveled in his chair again. “A weird slip of the tongue, I guess.”

Dream laughed. “Alright, weirdo. Bye.”

“Bye,” George said, as Dream ended the call.

George continued sitting in his gaming chair, warmth resonating from his face. His eyes were locked on Dream’s Teamspeak icon. He looked out the window again at the grey clouds. _Clay_ , he repeated over and over in his head. _Clay_. _Clay? Why did I say that?_

George stood up and walked over to the window. He gazed down at the small plaza of concrete that sat at the base of his building. The light posts were working overtime, illuminating the street during the dark afternoon. The trees blew in the wind, fallen leaves crawling across the pavement. Dozens of people marched around the streets, their hair blowing every which way. He tried to find the dips in the sidewalk where the puddles had formed that one day.

The thought of the puddles increased the warmth he felt in his stomach. _That was so stupid_ , he laughed to himself. He tried to picture himself jumping into the puddles. A grown man in a soaking wet coat giggling and spinning around in circles. He remembered what Dream had said.

 _I was not dancing_ , George thought, shaking his head. Spinning wasn’t dancing, right? It was just… spinning.

He pictured himself fully dancing in the plaza. “So stupid,” he whispered. _But Dream thought it was cute_.

George blushed, shutting out the intrusive thought. No, he didn’t actually. He was just teasing like always.

 _He said he wanted to see you dance_.

George covered his face and turned away from the window. It was a joke. It was just teasing.

A rather strong gust of wind blew against the side of his building, sending out an eerie breath that George could hear even through the walls. He peered through the window again, seeing the people down below shiver, the leaves blowing all around them. He thought again of the puddles.

What had gotten into him that day? He had been such a dork, laughing at his reflection, humming those stupid pop songs, splashing around. George examined the concrete again, smiling at the thought of it all, as embarrassing as it was.

He had felt so warm inside, even in the cold rain. He had been so happy. _Colorful_ , George remembered.

Colorful.

Suddenly, George froze. He was focused on a perfect square of concrete in the plaza, unable to tear his eyes away. The warmth in his stomach exploded all throughout his body as he subconsciously realized what he had to do. Frantically, George grabbed his bucket of chalk, a coat, and was out the door.

~

George suddenly found himself crouching on the concrete, in front of the square he had seen from his window. He dumped out the chalk and settled onto his knees, grabbing a completely random color.

People were staring again. The wind was beating onto him. His mind raced, unable to focus on any one coherent thought. He had no idea what he was doing, but his hands were steady and calm, almost like they had minds of their own.

His heart boomed as the chalk made contact with the pavement, and his hands started getting to work. Creativity surged through his veins in a way that it never had before. Head completely empty and incredibly full at the same time, George let his hands grab another color, aimlessly drawing lines in all different directions.

He noticed pairs of feet in the distance stopping to watch what he was doing. George, normally so strict about his self-image and appearance, persisted in the artwork. His hands were flying. His arms were sore. He reached for another random piece of chalk.

Bright flashes danced across his mind, incomprehensible flames in his chest. The creativity had completely taken over, George only seeing, not registering, what was being drawn before him on the pavement. Complete and utter mania lit George up like a beam of lightning.

He suddenly dropped the chalk he was grasping onto so tightly. He blinked several times, hard. He finally allowed himself a glimpse at what he was drawing. It looked like a person.

Not a moment later, George was mindlessly back to work, grabbing a new color every second. Simply doing whatever his imagination told him to, George scribbled, beads of sweat forming on his forehead from the incredible determination.

His hands burned. It was nearly freezing temperatures out, and the wind relentlessly tackled him, but once again, George felt only warmth. As he continued to frantically draw, he finally recognized a thought in his whirring brain.

 _Color_.

All he thought was color.

He drew a line. _Color_. A circle. _Color_. Shading up and down. _Color. Color! Color! Color!_

Time flew like it had never flown before. The sky dimmed even further, the lamp posts blaring. Minutes were seconds and seconds were minutes for George. Brain still tossing and turning at lightspeed, George triumphantly threw down his last piece of chalk.

His breaths were heavy and fast, heart rate through the roof. He fell back onto the cold concrete, closing his eyes and willing himself to steady his breathing, slowly regaining control over his body. Deep breaths.

A wave of exhaustion crashed through his entire being. After a moment of stillness, George opened his eyes. He pushed himself onto the backs of his hands. He purposefully avoided looking at the drawing. He was scared to view what he had just allowed himself to put on display for all to see.

He pushed himself to his feet. He looked at his hands and pants, coated in the greys of the chalk. Another deep breath. He exhaled slowly, and willed himself to look down at his creation.

George gasped, covering his mouth with both hands.

A soft jawline and square chin. A round nose, freckles dotted along the bridge. Messy, wind-blown hair, covering the forehead. Kind eyes. A playful smirk. A gentle expression. All crafted by the colors of the rainbow.

His heart was on fire, burning deep within him, almost painful. His hands shook, knees quivering beneath him. His mind was like a bright beacon of light, shooting up into the sky. It could be anyone. But George knew.

“Clay,” he whispered.

George blinked, hard, making sure this was real life. He felt something on his face. He realized that he was crying. Tears streaming from joy and exhaustion, he let himself take the portrait of the boy in. This was him. His best friend. He was absolutely certain. George hopped into the air with outrageous joy.

“Clay!” he yelled, laughing this time.

Color exuded from the laughter, and he continued bouncing up and down. He kept staring, unable to break eye contact with the concrete. _Clay_. He was incredible. He was perfect. He was… he was…

“Beautiful,” George whispered, standing still now.

A huge drop landed on George’s arm. George looked at the drop, then up to the sky. Quickly, he looked at the ground. Three large dots sat themselves in the center of Clay’s face.

The horror rushed in. “ _No!_ ” George gasped, frantically trying to savor the image in his mind. In his heart. He needed to have this. He needed to remember. His hand fumbled in his pocket for his phone. George froze. _My phone!_

Immediately, George was sprinting back to the front doors of his building. Raindrops smacked his face. He ran up the stairs, tripping over himself. He was frantic. He was a mess. His feet thundered up the steps, mimicked by the increasing pace of the rain on the roof.

George flung open his door, running to his desk and snatching his phone. The screen flashed on at the sudden movement, and George glanced at it while running back out. He nearly fell down the steps as he descended.

“ _The Manhunt starts in 5 minutes, where are you?_ ”

Sent by Dream.

30 minutes ago.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” George mumbled, his feet tumbling down the stairs and out the door. The sky rumbled with thunder, just as his heart did the same. It was pouring.

George slipped on the wet pavement, running as fast as he could towards the artwork. He opened up the camera app, scanning the concrete for the face. The face made of random, colorful colors and lines. The face he had been reaching for for years.

He stood next to where his chalk lay in the rain. The phone tumbled out of his grasp. Devastation hit like a truck.

Where Clay’s face rested before was now just a puddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! If you stuck around for the second chapter, thank you! And I hope you enjoyed it! I envisioned the last scene so perfect in my mind, it was hard to get out into words! So I hope I got the ideas across alright. The next chapter is my favorite. Stay tuned. :)


	3. Chapter 3

~

George dragged his feet on the wet pavement, a dripping bucket full of wet chalk in one hand and a cracked phone in the other.

Tearing his eyes away from the concrete had to have been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. His heart was left on the sidewalk, now washed away by the thunderstorm.

George grasped the door handle to his building, using all his strength just to open the glass door. He nearly dragged himself up the stairs. The rain echoed all around him. What was the point of even getting on Minecraft? He knew he was late. _Again_.

Finally entering his apartment, George wandered over to his desk, opening up Twitch and shrugging off his coat. Yep, Dream was live, and with a staggering amount of viewers. He sat down and clicked on the stream to see him deep in the game, gathering resources. Maybe there was still time.

George put on his headset and loaded up everything he needed to join the game. His hands started trembling again, the last drops of adrenaline he had in his body rising again to the surface. He shook his head, biting at his fingernails. _Please don’t hate me_ , George thought, tapping his feet in nervousness.

George scanned the Discord chat to find the IP address. He quickly logged in and joined the Teamspeak call before his head could tell him to do otherwise.

George looked around in-game. His spawn location was on an island in the middle of the ocean, the rest of the players long gone. Sapnap’s loud laughter filled his brain, intertwined with a collection of giggles from Antfrost as he heard Bad suddenly yell, “Language! Sapnap, this is _live_!”

George tried to get himself to speak, but nothing came out. The laughter continued. “Ooo, is that supposed to scare me, Bad?” Sapnap asked sarcastically.

George knew he had to say something. Dream’s stream could surely see that he had joined the game, he couldn’t just sit there in silence. George brought himself to clear his throat, but the laughter from the hunters drowned it out.

George fiddled with his hands, willing himself to speak. _Come on, George_. He took a deep breath.

“Hello—”

“—Where were you?” Dream asked immediately, voice completely blank. George blinked quickly, racking his brain for an answer.

“Um… hi. Hi, chat. I was… I got busy doing something really important,” George answered much too loudly, trying to cover up the fact that his voice was shaking.

The awkward silence that followed could have stopped the whole world. George cleared his throat again, trying to fill the gap. “I’m here now, though,” he added timidly. He looked around in-game again, trying to find which way they had gone.

There was another painful, long silence. “Um…” George started again, “which way did you guys—”

“—George,” he heard Sapnap say, awkwardly chuckling. “Uh… you know we started a while ago, right?”

“Um… yeah,” George answered, his hands trembling again. He willed them to stop, but they did not.

Sapnap let out another awkward laugh. “Well, George… It’s kinda…” Sapnap breathed out a hesitant breath. “It’s kinda, like, too late for you to join in.”

George buried his head in his hands, embarrassment welling up inside of him. “Right.”

“Like, we’d love to have you,” Sapnap continued, “But like… that’s kind of unfair right? To just randomly add another hunter halfway through?”

George looked up to Dream’s Teamspeak icon, willing it to light up, defending him, saying he could certainly join. Dream stayed silent.

George took his head out of his hands, face flushed. “Yeah,” he awkwardly choked out. “Okay. Sor… Sorry, Dream.” His heartbeat thumped in his head as he waited for a reply. Dream again stayed silent.

“Okay, bye,” George whispered, exiting every application and shutting off his screen. He pried off his headphones and stood up, uncertain of what to do with himself. His face was hot and tears welled up in his eyes, George putting every ounce of determination into not letting them fall. He was _mortified_.

That had been _live_. George sat himself on the floor, wiping away the tears in his eyes with the ends of his sweater sleeves. _Live_. In front of nearly 400 _thousand_ people. They were bound to have noticed the tension. He laid down, rolling over onto his stomach, his face buried in his arms.

“You _idiot_ ,” George shouted into his sweater. He couldn’t ever do anything right. Nothing. And Dream was upset, disappointed by his best friend yet again. Dream, who always made George feel warm and happy inside, who he couldn’t help but let down.

Dream. George sat up, staring at a blank wall, trying to remember his portrait. His kind face and sparkling eyes. All his brain saw was emptiness. George squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the image back into his head. Everything inside him tried to remember. It was gone.

George leapt up and ran to his window. Raindrops filled every crevice of the street, thunder still rumbling up ahead. George glared daggers at the puddle on the ground that now lived where Dream once did.

“Fuck!” he suddenly yelled. He bit at his knuckles, shaking his head. “The stupid fucking puddles!”

 _The puddles ruined everything_ , he thought, now storming around his room. _Life going good? Let’s splash around in some stupid puddles and fuck it up. Let’s miss a stream! Poured your heart out on the pavement? Let’s bring in another puddle! Let’s wash it all away! Fuck it, let’s miss another stream!_

Goerge’s whole body was piping hot. Red with frustration, George sat down at his drawing desk, roughly grabbing some sketch paper and a black pencil.

 _No no no, I can remember_. George took deep breaths, sketching the face of a man. Messy hair, covering the forehead. No, this wasn’t it. _I can do it. I can remember_. George tried again, another place on the paper. He started the outline of Dream’s face. Soft jaw. Square chin. He examined the new face. No, it was all wrong. He tried again to calm his heavy breaths.

He’d start with the eyes this time. Yeah, that should do it. George drew a pair of eyes, then a nose. A cute, round nose. _Wrong. All wrong_. George desperately tried again, drawing a playful smile this time. He sketched a face around the mouth. _Who the hell was this?_ George’s breathing continued growing heavy, and he slammed a fist into the desk.

More attempts. More faces. More jaws and noses and wavy hair. None of them were right. He looked at all of the faces he had drawn. This wasn’t Dream. This wasn’t Clay. These were just random, ugly people. Clay’s face was gone.

George found himself staring at his black screen on his other desk. Shame filled his heart at the thought of Dream’s livestream. He was supposed to be joking and laughing with his friends right now, and he was instead sitting around in a lonely room.

George made his way over to the screen, turning it on. Was Dream still streaming? He begrudgingly opened Twitch, squinting his eyes so that he couldn’t see the stream fully. Oh, wait.

George sat down. The stream was over. It had just ended. Done. He had to talk to Dream again. He had to explain.

He looked to the horrific drawings of random men on his sketch paper, then to his shattered phone screen. He could call Dream. Embarrassment and shame rose to his cheeks again. He _could_. He didn’t _have_ to.

George glanced back at the drawings. No. He had to.

George grabbed his phone, taking a seat at his drawing desk, and clicked the phone icon next to Dream’s contact.

~

The phone rang. George slammed his eyes shut, waiting to hear the voice of his friend. The phone rang again. He tapped his feet in anticipation. It rang again. George opened his eyes curiously. Was he not going to answer?

His heart sank. Of course. Why would he ever answer? The phone rang again. George had left him hanging, again. He was probably blocked at this point. The phone continued ringing. George sighed a painful sigh and went to end the call.

“You missed it again.”

Dream’s voice suddenly came through the phone speaker, crystal clear. George’s face burned. He exhaled a soft, sad breath.

“I know.”

Dream breathed out loudly, exasperated. “George, I’m getting tired of asking why you keep missing my stuff.”

“I know.”

“This was _so_ important to me, George. The first ever livestreamed Manhunt! You _knew_ it was important,” Dream rambled, frustration breaking his voice. “We _practiced_ literally like, two hours before. What possibly could have come up?”

George was silent, the sound of Dream’s voice longing to stir up joy, but the guilt of the whole situation blocking it out. George thought of the illustration of Dream on the sidewalk, his breathing picking up pace. He could never tell him that.

“I… don’t know how to explain—”

“—You just decided not to show up?” Dream asked quietly, hurt evident in his voice. “Thought it would be a funny prank or something?” George fiddled with his hands, wetness once again welling up in his eyes. “I checked, George, you weren’t even _watching_ after you left. You were just gone. You didn’t even watch?”

George’s breaths turned broken and choppy, inhaling getting more and more difficult. Suddenly, he choked out, “I’m sorry,” as tears started spilling down his face.

Dream was silent at the sudden emotion George let out. George breathed in and out quickly, sobs splitting through the tense air.

“I’m s-sorry, Dream,” George explained, words choppy. “It’s been s-so weird lately, Dream. So weird. I don’t know what I’m doing.” George’s sleeves went back to cleaning up his tears. “And now I hurt you again.”

“George—”

George’s loud sobs cut Dream off, uncontrollable. George hid his face in his hands, humiliated at how he was crying right now. How he was letting Dream hear him so broken. He wiped more tears off of his cheeks.

“George,” Dream repeated. George sniffled, trying to calm himself down, steadying his breathing. “I know I’ve asked you this before, but I need honesty.” George sat still, preparing himself. Dream breathed out softly. “Are you okay?”

George’s whole chest was soaked with warmth. How did that always happen, even when he was like this? He soaked his sweater with the last of his tears and looked to the ceiling. _Am I okay?_

“Yes,” George responded after some time. “It’s just been weird lately, like I said.” George hesitated, breathing deeply and thinking through what he was saying. “Not weird in a bad way, weird in a good way, I guess. I just don’t know what’s happening. I’ve never experienced it before.”

“But you’re okay.”

 _His voice_. George filled with a colorful sensation again at Dream’s words. “Yes.”

George’s eyes flickered over the ugly sketches on his desk, looking away quickly. He turned to the damp bucket of chalk by his door. He owed Dream an explanation. It was getting out of hand.

“Dream, I was late because I was drawing something in color,” George quickly confessed, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Dream hesitated. “What?”

George shook his head, hand nervously fumbling with his hair. “I… was drawing. With color. Colored chalk.” George looked again to the ceiling, trying to choose his words carefully, as to not give too much away. “I don’t know why. I was looking out my window, and I like… I had this, like, feeling where my mind was…” George looked around his room, trying to search for the right words. “…it was, like, detached from my body, and I was just drawing all of the sudden.”

George heard Dream let out an awkward laugh. “Um…” he started, “what do you even mean by that?”

Dream was still upset. George knew. Yet he still wanted to know what was going on. It was something so unique. George sighed, trying again to explain.

“There’s… there’s been this feeling that I’ve been getting lately,” George began, still nervously tugging at his hair. “And it makes me do stupid things sometimes. It’s, like, a nice, warm feeling. The feeling you get next to a fireplace, but even warmer than that. And it just happens whenever…” George froze.

_Whenever I think about you._

No no no. He couldn’t say that.

A pink blush tinged George’s face. “I get it sometimes, when, like…” George started again, trying to rephrase, “when I’m happy. Or when I…” George’s hand fell from his hair, fumbling with his sleeves. George shook his head. “When I, like, talk to you, I’ve been feeling… colorful.”

Dream huffed an amused breath. “Okay… what do you mean by that?” George could hear a hint of a smile laced in his words.

“I wish I could explain it better,” George said, examining his still-shaking hand. “I think that’s the only word I can come up with to describe it.”

“Colorful,” Dream repeated.

George nodded, biting the inside of his lip. “Yeah.”

Dream suddenly let out a dry chuckle. “You don’t even know what that word means.”

George’s heart sank. He knew that Dream wasn’t going to take it seriously. “I do know what it means, sort of,” George responded.

“You don’t.”

George huffed, looking back up at the ceiling, slightly hurt. “See, this is why I don’t tell you anything. You’re always making fun.”

Dream let out another soft laugh. “Sorry,” he said gently.

“It’s whatever,” George said, mood lightening slightly. “You’re just so annoying sometimes.” He smiled. A good kind of annoying, mostly.

“Shut up,” Dream said lightly. He then hummed contemplatively.

There was a small silence, and George could hear the storm outside still thundering. He let himself relax more into his chair. Had Dream forgiven him? He seemed calmer now. George put an embarrassed hand to his face at the memory of him describing his colorful feelings to Dream. _So dumb_.

“I need to say something.” Dream broke the silence.

George sat up straight again. “Okay.”

Dream sighed into the phone. “George…” he started, pausing momentarily. “George, I’ve been feeling hurt lately. And I’m sure you know that. You’re not stupid. Like, I get that you’re dealing with some really weird stuff right now, and I guess that explains a lot,” Dream continued, voice hard to read, “But George, you’ve been late to the last _five_ streams. Five.”

George’s heart sank. Had it really been that many? For that long?

Dream sighed again, pausing. “And… I miss you.” He sounded unsure of whether or not to continue. “I miss the way things used to be. And it feels like…” He paused again. “Well, lately, it’s felt like you don’t like me.”

George gasped at this, face going pale at how untrue the thought was. “I like you!” he immediately responded.

“Yeah, okay, like, you can _say_ that,” Dream continued, “but you don’t show it, George. Like, yeah, we have some fun times. They’re great. But it genuinely feels to me like… you don’t want to be around me anymore.”

George stood up. “Clay, I like you!”

Time froze. _Clay_. George thought back to the face on the pavement. How that face had made him feel like a beam of light, his body engulfed in flames of every color. Perfect. In his mind, George was back, splashing in the puddles. No thoughts, only joy. The raindrops danced. George twirled. Thunder boomed from the clouds, filling George’s heart even further. He thought of the face again. Heat swirled up from his toes to his ears, and all came crashing down as George breathed out in a moment of clarity.

“I like you.”

George slapped a hand to his mouth. Had he said that outloud? He squeezed his eyes shut, praying that Dream hadn’t heard the change of inflection in the words. The heat was in his head now. George was dizzy. He gripped the arms of his chair. Maybe his ears had deceived him. Maybe he hadn’t said it again. Only a loud thought. He braced for impact.

Dream’s voice came in a wisp of softness.

“What do you mean by that?”

George’s face burned, heart pounding as hard as the rain on his window. “I…” Words did not come to George. He collapsed back into his chair. All he could think of was the rain thumping on the roof and the heat boiling his brain to mush. He had to elaborate.

“I…” George said again. He opened his mouth to continue the sentence. Nothing came out. He couldn’t do it. There was a long, painful silence. George wanted to speak! He wanted to tell Dream everything! His mouth just fell open and closed over and over again.

“George?” Dream quietly asked.

George’s heart pounded like a metronome. His hands shook. Nothing could control them anymore. And the sizzling heat building up in George finally exploded.

“What the hell Dream, I don’t know!” George suddenly shouted.

“Whoa—” Dream started, “I didn’t mean to—”

“—You’re always twisting my words!” George continued, standing up again, “Always making fun of me, and teasing me when I’m being dead serious!”

“Just now? George, I wasn’t—” Dream stammered, “I didn’t mean—I just wanted to—”

“—You said I was dumb for dancing in the rain. You said that, Dream! You wish you could have seen me dance? Yeah, to laugh at me and make jokes about how stupid I look, yeah?!” George was losing control, heated words flowing out before they crossed his brain.

“George—”

“You said I can’t feel colorful because I’m… because I’m fucking colorblind? You think that’s funny?” George continued, his voice breaking. “It’s all silly to you, it’s all jokes. They’re not jokes to _me_! They’re all very _real_ things to me, _Dream_!” George shook his head at his eyes welling up again. “What is _wrong_ with you?” he yelled out, choking back tears.

“George,” Dream interjected, “just now—I was _not_ making fun of you. I was _not_ …” His voice broke as he tried to explain.

“I just don’t know what to _do_ anymore, Dream! I miss you too, okay? God, I miss you,” George said, voice still loud and sizzling.

“You think I don’t miss _you_?—”

“—Things have been so fucked lately, so weird, and I can’t even express what’s happening to you! Be-because you just wanna make a joke and laugh about it all!—”

“—No!” Dream yelled suddenly. “ _No_ , George! I’m sorry, George. The only reason I make fucking jokes all the time is because—”

“—Whatever, Dream,” George said, choking back tears again, hands shaking violently. “I’ll talk to you later.”

George ended the call, chucking his phone onto the floor. And there he sat, trembling, the rain hammering onto the roof above him. All in an instant, George was slamming his head into his desk.

The awful, red-hot tension was finally released in his tears. George was sobbing again. Tears hit the desk, hit the paper, streamed down his arms. Shaking more than ever, George clawed at his hair. “What did I just _do_?” he whispered painfully to himself, his body stuttering with the sobs, gasping for breath.

George lifted himself up to see the horrifically disfigured sketches of Clay. A pitiful sound escaped his lips as the realization of his feelings hit him again. George heaved, tears falling more than ever. _Clay_. He _liked_ him.

 _I’m not mad at him_ , George thought, still sobbing, _Not at him. I’m mad at myself. And I screamed at him. I—_ “I hurt him even more!” George wailed, slamming his head on his desk again. He trembled, slowly realizing what a mess he was. George forced his breaths to slow, holding onto his chair for dear life, grasping for stability. He opened his eyes to blurry vision, glancing down at the desk under him.

The desperate drawings of sweet Clay were now riddled with puddles of tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, sorry for the angst!! This chapter absolutely broke me to write, but I'm honestly so so proud of the way it turned out!!
> 
> Tomorrow will be the very last chapter, and it's a very long one, so get ready to settle in.
> 
> If anyone is still reading thank you so much!! I really appreciate the comments and kudos!! <3


	4. Chapter 4

~

George squinted open his eyes, blinking several times before being able to open them all the way. He brought his hands up to sluggishly rub his face. His vision was hazy. He sat up, looking around. Where was he?

Suddenly, the memories of what had happened last night flashed into his head. _I like you_. George winced, rubbing between his eyes to alleviate his headache. _It’s all silly to you, it’s all jokes_. George shook his head, swatting the bad memory away with his hand. _What is wrong with you?_

George smacked his face to his hand. He couldn’t believe he had said those things. Horrific things about Dream, straight to his face.

He squinted again, looking around. He was on his floor. He’d somehow fallen asleep on his carpet. George picked his sore body up and headed to the shower.

The warm water felt good after sleeping on the cold floor for so long. George blocked all terrible thoughts of last night out and just focused on the water running down his limbs. _Gentle breaths, George_ , he told himself. _Gentle breaths_.

George ended up slumping to the floor of the shower, letting the water hit his face. He had been so rough to himself last night. He remembered how much he sobbed. He remembered biting his knuckles and hitting his head into the desk.

 _I can’t do that again,_ George told himself. _I can’t lose control like that again, ever_.

George finally willed himself to turn off the water, and pulled himself out in front of the mirror. He gazed at his reflection.

He looked utterly exhausted. His eyes were huge and puffy, with dark rings surrounding them. He also had a huge bruise at the top of his forehead from after he had hung up the call. “It’s okay,” he whispered shakily to himself.

George threw on some clean clothes and walked out to his room. His eyes looked towards his art desk. His tear-stained, ruined artwork looked back at him. Not just the depressing drawings of Dream were tainted. Sketches of seascapes, skylines, and nature were also crumpled and stained.

George sat on the edge of his bed, looking at his feet. He had to make it up to him. He had to.

George grabbed his sad phone off of the floor, parts of the glass flaking off the screen now. Maybe Dream had messaged him? He turned it on.

Nope. Of course not. It’s not like George was expecting him to or anything. Not after the way he’d treated him.

George sat, planning out exactly what he’d say to Dream the next time they spoke. It had to be perfect and kind. No unexpected improvisation this time. He took a deep breath, and called Dream.

The phone rang. And it rang. It rang some more. Dream never came. The sound of the voicemail beeped, and George quickly hung up, startled. He rarely ever got to the end of the ringing.

George looked at the time. _2:13_. He’d try again in a couple of hours.

George cleaned up his art desk and did some laundry. Usually he’d play music while he did chores, but today he needed silence. He kept rehearsing what he’d say to Dream in his head. How he would explain himself. When he was done folding his clothes, George sat back on his bed, pulling out his phone again. _5:45_. He called Dream.

The phone rang and rang again. Nothing. George hung up.

He looked outside. The wind had died down, now a gentle breeze. Gloomy clouds still swirled in the sky, looking just slightly less menacing than before. He grabbed a coat and headed down his stairs, outside to the plaza, joining in the stream of bustling pedestrians walking hastily towards their destinations. He passed right by where he had splashed in the puddles. George turned his head away. He knew he couldn’t look.

George walked for a long time, clearing his head. The fresh air was nice. He passed by children playing in the park. Women sitting on a bench, laughing. Teenagers playing basketball. He got back to his apartment, checking the time again. _8:19_. George called. Nothing. George hung up.

He sat in his gaming chair, opening Twitter on his computer. No new tweets from Dream. He checked YouTube and Twitch. Nothing.

George fumbled with his hands, biting his nails. Uh oh. This was so unlike him. Dream was always working on stuff, always online somewhere. George resorted to staring up at the ceiling, his mind replaying all of the horrible things that he said. The terrible lies that he didn’t mean, not even a little bit.

George kept biting his nails, biting until only the pink parts were left. He spun around in his chair, trying and then failing to keep the fragile sound of Dream’s voice out of his head. _What do you mean by that?_

George could have just _told_ him. The words had been right there, at the very tip of his tongue. He glanced at his phone again. _12:20_. The time had flown. Four full hours of revisiting their horrendous conversation.

George called Dream again. Unsurprisingly, it rang and rang, George once again hanging up right before the voicemail beep. He checked all of Dream’s social media. _Nothing_.

“God,” George breathed, pacing around his room now.

He peered through his window again at the sidewalk below. He forced himself to look at the parking lot, and the concrete below where the puddles had formed that first day. Where the colorful feeling had found him. He imagined Dream sitting on the bench, watching him. _Watching me dance_ , George thought.

George suddenly was descending his steps, making his way outside in just his t-shirt and jeans. It was freezing, wind once again howling. He walked over in the black of night to the area he looked at from his window, standing in the divet in the ground. A puddle had once been here. He sat down in the dip. He turned on his phone, pulling up Dream’s contact, texting him.

“ _Please answer, Dream. Please_.”

George sent the message, and promptly pressed the phone icon.

A long string of ringing, and then nothing, once again. George put his head in his hands and shook with the cold wind. He let the voicemail message play out this time. _Beep_.

“Dream. It’s George,” he began, tears involuntarily welling up in his eyes. George looked up towards the clouds to will himself away from crying again. “Look, I’m getting worried about you, Dream. I know you hate me. But please, _please_ answer. Please.”

George ended the message, wiping at his eyes with raw hands. It was dark all around him, street lamps starting to flicker from overuse in the dead of night. He stared up at his apartment from where he sat on the concrete. He imagined his own face looking back at him. He put a palm on the cold sidewalk, momentarily envisioning that there was another there, holding it. He pictured Dream sitting by his side, eyes growing wet again.

George looked down at his phone again, and called Dream one last time. _Please_ , George pleaded. _Please answer_.

“Hello.”

George sat straight up at the sound of the familiar voice.

“Oh my god, Dream?” George checked to make sure that the call was actually happening. It was. “ _Dream!_ Are you okay?”

Dream was silent on the other end of the line. Every sentence that George had rehearsed flew out the window. Words began tumbling out.

“Dream, I’m _so_ sorry. I’m so, so, _so_ sorry,” George held his head in his hands as the words spilled out. “I don’t know what got me into me. I got so angry all of the sudden, and—But not angry at _you_ , Dream. You did nothing wrong, ever. Not _ever_ ,” George rambled, a tear escaping his eye. “I was angry at _myself_ , Dream. Oh my god, and I hurt you so bad.” He shook his head. “And I said such horrible things. I’ve never been more ashamed in my _life_. Those insults… they were just a terrible coping mechanism for whatever I was working through with myself.” George wiped away tears again. “I promise. I didn’t mean it, any of it. I am so sorry, Dream. So, so sorry.”

George shivered, curling up in a ball. Dream stayed silent.

George started up again, becoming a mess of tears once again. “I’m so—I’m so sorry, Dream. Please, _please_ forgive me. I’ll do absolutely whatever it takes to gain your trust back. _Please_.”

George wiped away tears once more, waiting for Dream to say something. _Anything_. George laid down, looking up at the sky again. His lip trembled, hands brittle.

“I’m sorry, too,” a voice suddenly spoke.

George sat up, perplexed. “What?”

“I… I’m sorry, George,” Dream whispered.

“No, Dream. You didn’t do anything wrong. Not ever,” George asserted. “ _I’m_ the one who—”

“George,” Dream said, silencing his friend. “You were right about some stuff. Even if you didn’t mean it.” He paused. “I’m really sorry about how much I make fun of you.”

“It’s okay, Dream, it’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t, actually,” Dream continued, “I like to try to make you laugh. And sometimes it works, and it’s great. But I never realized how often it did… the opposite.”

George sighed into his hand. “It’s okay, Dream. But thank you.”

Dream exhaled loudly into the phone. “Yeah,” he said blankly. “I guess we both have terrible coping mechanisms.”

“What could you possibly be trying to cope with?” George huffed. “Your life is amazing.”

“You said you were working through some things, George. Sometimes I have to work through things, too,” Dream explained. “I get confused, too.”

George’s mouth went dry. He sat still. “About what?”

“About…” Dream started. He paused.

George found himself holding his breath, nose pink. _About…?_

Dream sighed. “I don’t know.”

George breathed again. He really didn’t know what he had been expecting. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, shaking his head. “Dream, I really am sorry. I really am.”

“I know you are,” Dream responded warmly. He hesitated. “And I forgive you.”

George looked to the sky, scrunching his eyes shut at the peace that washed over him.

“You really hurt me, George. You’ve never been mean before. You were _mean_ ,” Dream continued, “But I also know you. And I know that you’re actually sorry. I know.”

George found himself wordless. “Thank you,” he muttered, unsure what else to say.

“Heh,” Dream breathed out. “You’re welcome.” George could hear a small smile in his voice. “And I really wasn’t trying to make you feel stupid, George. I’m sorry that happened.”

“It’s alright, Dream.”

“Whatever you draw is not stupid. Even if they’re doodles.” George smiled, blushing at the sudden kindness. He didn’t deserve Dream. “And you can feel colorful, George!” Dream told him, “I’m sorry I ever said that you couldn’t.”

George let out a light laugh.

Dream chuckled softly along with him. “Yeah. And I’m sure whatever you drew in color was beautiful.”

 _It was_ , George thought, remembering the joy that filled him while gazing at the portrait. _It was, because it was you_.

“And the puddles!” Dream suddenly exclaimed, breaking George out of his thoughts. “The puddles. I don’t think you splashing in the puddles was dumb. I’m sorry I said that.” Dream paused. “Although… I still wish I could’ve seen you dance around in them.”

George’s eyes opened wide at the remark, jaw dropping and eyes flickering towards the bench that stood by where he sat. Warmth spread through his entire body as he pictured Dream relaxing on the wooden frame, gazing at George spinning about.

Suddenly, George’s entire chest expanded, millions of embers igniting. He looked to where he was sitting, and back to the bench again. He stood, the warmth continuing to take total control of his body. Incredible ideas sent sparks through his mind every which way. He involuntarily let out a giggle, frantically looking back and forth from the bench to his feet.

Dream chuckled. “What are you laughing at?”

George laughed again, vibrations surging through his fingertips. He hopped up into the air. “Oh my god! Clay!” George quickly caught himself. “I mean Drea—”

“—You can call me Clay.”

George beamed. “Okay. Clay.” He let out an incredible laugh. “I’ve just had an amazing idea!”

Dream laughed. “About what?”

“About… about something I need to paint!” George’s mind whirred with fire and electricity. “I’ve got to get started! I’ve got to—” George thought of Dream sitting on the other end of the call. “It… Well, I don’t know how long it’s gonna take…”

“It’s okay, George. Go make your masterpiece,” Dream laughed, George’s excitement rubbing off on him. “Hurry up, though. I really do miss talking to you.”

“I’ll hurry! I’ll…” George’s mind buzzed, words not coming to him quickly enough. He started running back to his apartment through the cold night. “Okay, I’ve gotta—”

“—George?” Dream suddenly said, timidly.

He stopped running. He caught his breath. “Yeah?”

Dream paused, as if not sure whether to continue. George stood, tense with anticipation, head still rushing from excitement.

Dream spoke again. “Do you think I could see? When you’re done?”

George’s mind raced even faster, his face flushing. He’d never shown his art to anyone, not ever. _Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea_ , George’s thoughts warned, the voice echoing in the back of his mind. _Bad idea! Bad idea!_ But the color stirring inside of George continued to grow, filling him to the brim. Radiating with warmth, George’s heart suddenly made the decision before anything else in him could agree.

“Yes.”

Dream chuckled, and George continued running towards his apartment, smile beaming off his face. George could feel the warmth all around him, emitting from the ground, from the wind, from his phone speaker.

“Get to it then,” Dream said.

~

George was back in his room, running to his art desk. He quickly set up the easel he had never used, and hastily grabbed a tall canvas from his collection, tearing off its wrapping. He darted over to the paints he had bought, still in the plastic bags from the art store. George frantically dumped them all over the desk, bottles scattering and rolling in every direction.

He popped open several paints and poured them onto his palette, not having any clue what they could possibly be. He grabbed a brush and got to work.

His brush strokes were delicate but fast, George dipping into a new color with every line. His mind was racing, thoughts once again completely incomprehensible. His hands did all of the work for him, his mind only focused on the perfect idea at the forefront of his mind.

It was as if the bright paints had filled his entire being. Color erupted from George’s hands, from his heart, from his mind, his eyes, his ears. His heart thumped, and his brain was about to fly off its tracks with how fast it was moving, but his body was perfectly still, moving quickly and painting meticulously.

George continued painting for hours, finally dropping his brush and looking back at what he had created. The warmth behind his eyes gazed upon his creation, wanting so desperately for it to be perfect. “It’s not perfect,” George mumbled, suddenly tossing the painting aside and grabbing a new canvas. “It needs to be perfect.”

Sweat beaded on his forehead as George started all over from scratch, his dainty hands feverishly working again at staining the colorful paints onto the white canvas. The same brilliant idea served as inspiration for the piece, but demanded to be executed differently.

George put all of his energy into painting. Night and day. He was caught in a cycle of completely crashing at random times, sleeping on the floor, and then waking up to that colorful, beautiful feeling again, warmth still surging through his veins. George painted for days, although it just as easily could have felt like mere minutes. Just when he’d finish a painting, it would once again end up tossed to the side, and the process would begin again. They were so close to being just right, but something was missing. George could push it further. _It needs to be perfect_.

Paint danced across the fabric of the canvas, random colors mixing in wonderful, accidental ways that George could never know. His raging warmth guided his hands, colors splashing all about. On his walls, on his clothes, on his skin. And George just trusted the process. He knew that his heart would guide his hands. He didn’t require any say in the matter.

He was close this time. George blindly painted with all of his strength, mindlessly dipping his brush into the dull greys that he could feel in his heart were bright, beautiful tints. It was the home stretch. George held his breath and desperately continued to ferociously paint his perfect lines, perfect circles, perfect shading. His chest opened up, shining a beautiful light through every limb.

George made the last stroke, slamming his paintbrush down on his desk, breathing harder than he ever had before. After days and days of endless hysteria, George had finally captured it. He had captured the beautiful, wonderful, warm feeling that he had never been able to describe. He had captured it in his art.

He blinked, stepping back to look at the creation. He promptly passed out.

~

George slept for a very long time. For nearly twenty hours he had laid on the floor, deep in a slumber that was inevitable after the amount of energy he had burned. But now, he was finally awake, standing across from his easel which displayed the final product of his days of work.

George stood with his eyes closed. He was waiting to look, his chest rising and falling deeply as he steadied himself. George had caught glimpses of what he was painting during his frenzy. But now, his mind was clear and his heart was fuller than it ever had been. It was time to see.

He opened his eyes.

Swirling rainclouds hung all over the top of the canvas, stretching out into the distance. There was nothing menacing about them. They were tranquil and soft. Drops of refreshing rain fell from the clouds gently, almost as if they were floating. The ground was scattered with circular, pure puddles, ripples dancing through them as the rain made contact with the pools. Splashes flew joyfully up from the ground, and then drifted back down in a mist. Lush leaves drooping down from towering trees draped a single bench on the side of the street, and reflections of the plaza’s lamp posts illuminated the concrete in a warm glow. And where the hoard of busy people usually flooded the square, it was empty. Empty, except for two people.

George had tried many times to get the scene just right. To capture the warmth. To capture what his heart desired more than anything else.

Originally, George had drawn himself joyfully jumping into a puddle, water bouncing all around him. And he had drawn Clay sitting on the bench, laughing at the silly boy, eyes sparkling and hair damp from the rain. But George felt like there needed to be more. He needed Clay there in the moment with him.

So, George had discarded that canvas, and instead drew he and Clay _both_ leaping around in the puddles. Clay was jumping in the air, eyes closed with a smile plastered to his face, and George had been laughing, arms up, looking at Clay with stars in his eyes. But it still wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t complete.

George had tried for a third time, and he was getting closer. He had painted Clay standing in a puddle, color written all over his face, taking George’s hand and spinning him. Droplets danced every inch across the canvas, and George’s grin was like a beam of light as he twirled. And it was almost perfect. _Almost_. It was a wonderful thought, a wonderful scene. But George knew that there was more he needed to add. He wanted the whole canvas to convey the color he felt in his heart. And so that’s what he did. He created his final painting.

Tears welled up in George’s eyes as he gazed upon his masterpiece.

The night was still and kind, rain drizzling all around the canvas. Glow from a streetlight above illuminated the two men in a gentle spotlight. They stood interwoven together, delicately swaying to imaginary music. Slow dancing. Content, warm, giddy smiles shone through on both of their faces. 

Clay’s left hand intertwined with George’s right, their arms drooping down by both their hips. George’s free hand gently wrapped around Clay’s back, settling daintily on his sweater. George’s eyes looked up at Clay’s, excited sparkles gleaming out of them. And Clay’s free hand cradled George’s face. Clay was peaceful and content, face looking downwards with eyes fluttered shut, bracing for the moment both their lips would meet.

George heard the music once playing in his imagination suddenly fly out of his canvas. Ethereal violins echoed in his mind, and he had never felt a warmer feeling. He laughed gleefully, wiping away happy tears as he swayed in his room along with the two men that he had drawn.

 _Perfect_ , he thought.

The scene, created with colors picked completely by chance, radiated the feeling that George had been trying to communicate all along. He looked at how happy he had painted himself. And at how incredible Clay was. _Clay!_ Yes, this was really him! George hadn’t even tried to remember exactly how to paint him, and yet he had.

It was everything he’d ever wanted, sitting there in front of him.

George fell down onto his bed, breathing in deep, peaceful breaths. He was perfectly content. He finally looked at the date on his phone. Five days. Five days had passed since he had last spoken to his best friend, or to anyone. And he was ready to start being present again.

George happily made his way over to his computer, turning it on for the first time in ages. He opened Minecraft after installing a quick update, and popped into the Dream SMP server, putting on his headphones. His character spawned on the main path, the same place that he had logged off last time.

A couple of enthusiastic greetings popped up in the in-game chat. George smiled, and bounded down the path, looking for somebody he could hang out with. He noticed that he had gotten a whisper from Sapnap.

“ _Hey, I’m streaming lol. Just invited you to a call if you want to join in some lore?_ ”

“ _Sure_ ,” George whispered back. It was honestly about time.

“ _Come to Tubbo’s house_.”

George ran down the path to Tubbo’s house, and opened Teamspeak in his other monitor, joining a call with Sapnap, Tubbo, and… and Dream. George grinned.

George popped into the house where the three others were gathered. “Hello,” he greeted.

“Whoa! George?!” Sapnap suddenly cried out in an overly-dramatic fashion. “This is a secret meeting! You can _not_ be here! You must leave!”

“No, George, wait!” Tubbo interrupted, “Sapnap, he might be useful!” George laughed loudly at the ridiculous acting of his friends.

“What do you mean, Tubbo?” Dream asked.

“George,” Tubbo started, his character walking in circles around George’s. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but tensions are high. There’s been a war brewing!” George shook his head, grinning. He wasn’t surprised. “I think the three of us are all wanting the same thing here. We need you to join our force against Tommy.” George just stood there in silence. He didn’t want to mess any of the script up.

“ _Say yes_ ,” Sapnap suddenly whispered in-game.

“Um… yes. Okay,” George said, smiling.

The three others yelled out in triumph, getting another member on their team. George looked at Dream’s bubble on Teamspeak turn green every time he spoke, his voice making him feel warmer than he thought he ever could be.

The four of them played out more and more plot, detailing exactly who else was on their side, and who the enemy was. They planned out how they would recruit more allies, and when they would attack. Sapnap got hilariously hyped up, his chat cheering him on. Laughter and ridiculousness and Dream’s endearing wheezes continued on for a long time more, until the energy slowly faded, and Sapnap ended his stream. George hadn’t laughed so much in a long time.

“Guys, that was so good!” Sapnap laughed. “Thanks for joining!”

“That was so fun!” Tubbo agreed happily, his character running up and down the path outside his home.

George giggled lightheartedly. “It was actually pretty great,” he said, smirking. “That ‘battle’ stuff is so funny.”

“This is serious. Tommy had better be ready,” Dream joked, doing parkour from roof to roof.

Sapnap laughed. “Yeah, this is serious. And thanks for being here, George.”

“Yeah, George,” Dream remarked, words coated in sarcasm, “thanks for _finally_ participating in _something_ —”

“—Shut _up_!” George laughed, chasing Dream’s character and hitting him. “You’re so annoying.”

Dream chuckled, hitting George right back. “You’re an idiot.”

George beamed at the easygoing banter that he and Dream were able to have again. It was something that he had missed.

“Okay, I’m heading out,” Sapnap declared, yawning and exiting the server. “Having that much energy for so long kills me.”

Tubbo laughed. “Same here. Bye, everybody.”

A chorus of cheerful goodbyes reverberated in George’s headphones until everybody was logged out of Minecraft, and Sapnap and Tubbo left the call. It was just him and Dream now.

Dream and George both chuckled warmly.

“Hello,” Dream said brightly.

“Hello,” George echoed. “That was fun.” He spun around in his gaming chair.

“Yeah,” Dream agreed. He sighed. “We all missed you a lot, you know. We weren’t expecting you at all! It was good to have you back.”

“It was good to be back,” George said, smiling. The warmth from the painting still sat with him in his chest. “I feel colorful again, Dream. I do.” George grinned, spinning his chair around again. “I think I finally figured all my stuff out.”

“That’s good,” Dream chuckled. “Are you actually back for good then? No more days randomly off the radar?”

“Yeah, I’m back,” George replied warmly.

“So that must mean your _amazing_ project is done?” Dream inquired.

George looked toward his treasured painting again, butterflies dancing in his stomach. He hadn’t forgotten the promise that he had made. He almost didn’t want to admit to it. He wanted the painting all to himself. He didn’t have to confess to it being done. He could pretend he gave up.

He sighed, looking back to Dream’s Teamspeak icon. “Yes. It’s done.”

“Well, uh…” Dream paused. “Well, I’d still love to see it, I think,” he confessed quickly. “That is, if that’s still okay. You don’t have to do anything. I just wanna see what you’ve been working so hard on.”

George chuckled, desperately trying to deflect his embarrassment. “You’re _that_ obsessed with me, Dream?”

“Oh, come on now,” Dream laughed.

George’s heart thumped. The warmth in his chest rose directly to his face, which was now burning. He looked again at the painting, at the two men wrapped around each other. He and his _best friend_. He shook his head.

“You don’t have to,” Dream said quietly, pulling George away from his thoughts.

“No, it’s just that… um…” George’s head rushed, trying to come up with some excuse. “Well, it’s in color. I painted it all in color so it might look weird.” He chuckled. “It might look horrid, actually. No matter what, it’ll look completely different than how _I_ see it.”

Dream chuckled. “I promise not to tease. I _promise_. Besides George, I already know I’ll like it no matter what.”

George looked back to the two men’s faces leaning into each other. _I don’t know about that_. George’s face was on fire. His heart was going to explode onto the floor. “Okay. Just give me a second,” he said quickly, standing up and pacing around the room.

How is anyone supposed to go about sending a friend something like this? This was George’s whole entire heart poured out onto a canvas. Pouring your heart out to somebody was not an easy task.

George frantically looked around his room. He could send a photo of one of his rejected paintings! Yes, the one of Dream just sitting on the bench, watching him dance! That would do it. George pulled it off of the ground, examining it next to his most recent painting. He looked back and forth. George shook his head, dropping the failed attempt onto the floor once again. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t right. They needed to be dancing _together_. George grabbed his shattered phone.

He made his way towards Dream’s contact, staring at the screen for a long time. A full minute must have passed. _Fuck it_ , he finally thought. He snapped a picture of the finalized display of all George’s deepest feelings, and pressed send.

He slammed himself back into his chair and buried his head in his hands. It was sent. It was gone. It was in Dream’s hands now, for him to look at however he wanted.

His face sizzled to the touch, red-hot with immeasurable self-consciousness, and his hands tried with all their might not to tremble. George held his breath at the long pause that lingered between him sending the picture and Dream’s response. George glanced at the time. It had been two full minutes.

“Dream?” he whispered.

There was no reply. Dream was still logged into the call on Teamspeak. The message had been read. Dream was there, he just wasn’t speaking. The warmth inside of George still sat in his chest, unwavering. He wanted nothing more than for Dream to share in it. But still, Dream did not speak.

 _Oh my god_ , George thought, his heart racing even faster than before. _He hates it. He hates it, and he hates me_. George shook his head in his hands, wanting nothing more than to just leave. To hang up the call, dig himself into the ground, and hide there forever.

George checked the time again. It had now been four full minutes of uninterrupted silence. He took a long, deep breath, lifting his head out of his hands.

“Clay?” he breathed.

Another unbearably silent beat went by. And suddenly, a voice.

“How do you know what I look like?”

George sat still, his heart pounding. “What?” he responded awkwardly.

“George, this is literally me. It’s literally _exactly_ what I look like,” Dream continued softly, “How did you…?”

“I don’t know,” George said stiffly. “I just… felt it.”

Another period of silence passed.

“George?” Dream breathed.

George sat up straight, clearing his throat. “Yeah?”

This was it.

Dream paused again. “George… this is beautiful.”

George’s heart shot up into the sky like a rocket, colorful fireworks dancing behind his sparkling eyes. A wave joy coursed through his entire body. Warmth encased him in an inescapable hug. “Really?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Dream responded simply. “And also, George? I think I get it now.”

George raised his eyebrows, hands clasped together in happiness. “Get what?”

Dream chuckled. “I get how you feel color! I get it,” he responded, then paused. “I think I’m feeling it right now, too.” He chuckled again, hesitating. “It’s perfect.”

George laughed warmly. “Yeah, Clay. It is.” He sat back in his chair, grin forever glued to his face, and looked to the window in the corner of his room. Sunshine. The storm was over. He was free.

The two boys didn’t say another word. They didn’t have to. They just sat, living in the warm moment together. George felt a tranquil fire in his heart, and he knew that Dream did, too. Everything was finally peaceful. Everything was perfect.

Everything was color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of Puddles!!
> 
> I wrote this all completely for myself so I'm super surprised people actually read it, haha! If you are actually reading this, I hope you enjoyed it and that the last chapter wrapped up everything okay. I really tried to make it all fit together well in the end.
> 
> THANK YOU for reading !! <3 :) :)


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